


how empty they all seemed without you

by Crystalinastar



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz, Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Marvel Cinematic Universe Fusion, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, M/M, Memory Loss, Period-Typical Homophobia, World War II, but only very briefly - Freeform, no IW or endgame bc BMC just closed I don't want them to die here, no period typical racism bc I'm a POC and I don't like it, not really but canon-typical for the mcu
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 08:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20254927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystalinastar/pseuds/Crystalinastar
Summary: “Can’t believe you’re leaving without me,” Jeremy says, teasingly, but his goddamned actual emotions leak through.With a soft smile, Michael says, “Yeah, punk, me neither. Who’s gonna stop you from doing stupid things while I’m gone?”“How can I, when you’re taking all the stupid with you?” Jeremy retorts.-An MCU!AU, where Jeremy takes the place of Steve Rogers and Michael takes the place of Bucky Barnes... but with a twist: Jeremy becomes the Winter Soldier and in the 21st century, Michael takes up the mantle as the second Captain America (and of course the rest of the SQUIP squad are Avengers)





	how empty they all seemed without you

**Author's Note:**

> tw: homophobic slur, mentions and drinking of alcohol, suicidal tendencies, self deprecation throughout à la Jeremy Heere

Jeremy is eight—wait, no, he turned nine yesterday. Jeremy is nine.

His birthday was a quiet affair. His parents screamed at each other, before his ma left in a huff. His pa meagerly offered him a present after his ma was well and gone. The present was a notebook. _ To write down those songs you hum, _ Pa explained. _ Maybe someday you’ll sing ‘em and get rich. _

He doubts it. At home, Jeremy whistles easy, wiping down their rickety table. Maybe, if he’s had a good day, he’ll mumble made-up lyrics when he bathes. But Jeremy in front of a crowd is entirely different from Jeremy at home. Jeremy in front of a crowd shrivels up like a flower with no water. 

In the distance, he hears a stampede of boys, raucous laughter spilling out of their lips like they have dozens to spare. He hunches his back and turns the other street corner.

“Look, it’s the _ fairy_,” someone hisses. 

They’re always wherever he goes. Jeremy wishes that there weren't as many boys. He can handle it when a girl curls her lips in disgust and turns away, but his stupid scrawny body can't take a punch.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tenses, waiting for the blow. It never comes. 

One of his eyes opens hesitantly. Maybe the boy is waiting for a sliver of hope to peek through, before slamming it away. 

It’s not the case. The boy, _ Charlie _ he remembers, is on the ground, unconscious. Standing above him is another boy, but he’s not one the boys Jeremy knows. 

The boy holds out a hand and offers Jeremy a toothy grin. “Heya there, I’m Michael. You looked like you were in a bit of trouble then. I can teach you how t’ fight. If you want, of course.”

“T’ _ fight_?” Jeremy echoes softly. 

“Yeah!” Michael grins wider. “I mean, you’re not gonna let those bullies take you down all day, right?”

Jeremy takes Michael’s hand. It’s warm, and Jeremy leans into the touch. “Guess not,” he says.

It’s the start of a beautiful friendship.

* * *

Jeremy is in a white waiter’s shirt and black slacks he borrowed from Michael. They are the nicest clothes he has access to. 

“Hey, punk!” Michael calls, doing the heavy lifting, though all Jeremy really owns fits in a box and a backpack. “You just gonna stand there?” Michael makes his way over to Jeremy quickly, barely panting, in a way Jeremy can’t since he’s been cursed with every illness known to man. 

“You’re never gonna leave me, are you?” he asks, quietly. 

Michael’s eyes darken immediately. He’s also wearing the nicest clothes he owns. They had just come back from Jeremy’s pa’s funeral. (His ma hadn’t bothered to show up.) 

“I gotta ask _ you _ that, not the other way around,” Michael jokes despite his stormy expression, ruffling Jeremy’s incessantly curly hair. 

Jeremy manages a brief, flitting grin. “Yeah—yeah, ‘course.”

Michael cups Jeremy’s chin, forcing the shorter boy to look up at him. “_Hey. _Hey. I’ll be with you—with you ‘til the end of the line, you got that? I don’t want anymore nonsense outta you.”

“It’s not nonsense,” Jeremy mutters. Michael opens the door to his apartment. “You too, if I last that long. ‘Til the end of the line.” 

“Yeah, yeah, punk.” Michael just flat-out drops Jeremy’s box. It lands on the floor with an incriminating thunk.

“That’s my stuff, you jerk!” Jeremy shouts and runs in, ready to tackle Michael. 

(It works, mainly because Michael was caught by surprise. Jeremy has a coughing fit shortly after. It was worth it, he tells Michael with a cheeky smile.)

* * *

Their first kiss takes place under their ratty covers and in each other’s arms. Some nights, Jeremy doesn’t know where he ends and Michael begins, but that’s okay. He gets cuddles. From _ Michael_, whose pulse is so strong and healthy that it makes up for all the inadequacies of Jeremy’s own body.

They have a new status quo, of cautious touches and warm embraces. Jeremy’s not a fan of change, but he likes this one.

* * *

Jeremy’s leg is bouncing. He can’t stand to watch the murmured promises, the gentle touches, the happily ever afters on the movie screen. Not when it can’t be true for him and Michael. 

He hears something, faintly. It’s kind of a miracle, what with him being half-deaf in his left ear. It’s a scream. 

Before he knows it, Jeremy is throwing himself in front of the man—the _ bully_, he reminds himself, the man’s nothing but a no-good bully—and saying, “If you’re gonna fight anyone, fight me.”

_ ‘Cause I’m gonna die sometime anyways. Why not go out with a bang? _

The guy lunges and throws a sloppy punch. He’s huge, but slow, so Jeremy just has to step out of the way. 

He curls his fists. He knows he’s only supposed to hit the guy with the knuckles of his index and middle fingers, so Jeremy goes at him. 

The guy has to be a solid _ brick _ of muscle. This is a mistake. _ This is a mistake, oh my god. _And now he’s angered Nameless Bully No. Three-Thousand-Eighty-Seven. 

In a moment of adrenaline-infused scrambling, Jeremy grabs the lid of a trash can and holds it in front of himself, like a shield. He waits for the hit, he waits for a punch to collide with cold, unforgiving metal and for the hit to make him stumble back.

It doesn’t happen. 

“You always gotta get into fights, huh,” remarks the familiar voice of one Michael Mell. 

Michael’s wearing clothing that’s nicer than Jeremy’s ever seen. Jeremy gives him a once over. Licks his lips. “You don’t look like a rat, huh,” he replies. 

Michael shoves his head lightly. “Guess not, but I’m here with one.”

Jeremy fixates on the little badge. The one with Michael’s name on it. 

“Can’t believe you’re leaving without me,” Jeremy says, teasingly, but his goddamned _ actual emotions _ leak through. 

With a soft smile, Michael says, “Yeah, punk, me neither. Who’s gonna stop you from doing stupid things while I’m gone?”

“How can I, when you’re taking all the stupid with you?” Jeremy retorts. 

Michael rolls his eyes affectionately. “C’mon,” he says. “I want our last night out to be fun. Heard that the Valentine Expo was right around the corner.”

“Yeah, sure, jerk,” Jeremy huffs, crossing his arms. 

The night lasts a second and it lasts forever. Michael leaves the next morning for 107th Infantry Regiment, before Jeremy wakes up.

* * *

Jeremy gets enlisted. _ Jeremy gets enlisted_, through some matter of miracles. Dr. Erskine, Jeremy thinks his name is, believes he has heart. Jeremy won’t let him down. Michael won’t die out there alone. 

The thing is, he’s never had a real friend outside of Michael, so in the army, he keeps making a fool of himself through his sheer pitifulness and how when he turns, all he can see is Michael.

Like when he jumps on the not-bomb. (He keeps thinking, _ Save Michael, save Michael, save Michael _ and _You're expendable, you can die_.) The not-bomb doesn’t explode, and Jeremy’s face is red the rest of the day. 

Then he learns that jumping on the not-bomb, instead of running away, has qualified him for this special serum thing that’s supposed to make him stronger. Faster. In all ways, better. 

_ Michael wants me to become better. So he won’t have to take care of me all the time. What am I, a fucking infant? _

Jeremy agrees. 

Dr. Erskine explains the serum, why he needs someone pure of heart. 

“Good becomes great. Bad becomes worse,” Dr. Erskine says simply. 

_ Then I’ll become the worst, _Jeremy thinks, but he doesn’t voice this out loud. He needs this serum, more than Dr. Erskine can ever know. He doesn’t care if he becomes the worst of the worst, he just wants to be useful. 

* * *

The day of the serum comes. He sees Peggy Carter there, the woman with fire and an uppercut to beat God himself. Has a conversation with her. Michael calls what Jeremy thinks is having a talk with some nice dames incessant flirting, so he could be doing that as well. 

Peggy stares straight in his eyes—straight _ through _ his eyes—and tells him, “If this is going to happen, you must know that I am already taken.”

“That’s pretty, uh, fortunate,” Jeremy stammers out, “because—so am I?”

Peggy purses her lips. “You were listed as unmarried.”

And he’s said too much _ too muchtoomuch_—

When it comes to awkward situations, Jeremy always does the same thing. Blurt out whatever comes to mind. “Who _ is _the lucky man you are with?” 

_ No! _

Peggy Carter, a fiercer fighter than any man Jeremy knows, practically the inventor of a steely-eyed gaze with how she wields it, a veritable _ goddess _ throws her head back and laughs. “_I’m _ lucky to have _ them._”

_ They’re… _

“I’m sure she is—he, I mean he! Uh.” And once again, Jeremy’s running mouth will get him into trouble. 

Peggy seems amused by it all. “Who is _ your _lucky man?” she shoots back. She must be vaguely aware of how forbidden this is, how taboo, but she doesn’t seem to fear anything, so it fits. 

What did Jeremy do to deserve someone who faced his untimely ramblings and didn’t turn tail and run? “In the—the war,” he answers. 

“I see.” The words sit, still and heavy. 

The car comes to a stop. “We’re here,” Peggy says, nodding at him. 

For a couple scary minutes, Jeremy can’t feel anything beyond the blinding pain. Then, the pain stops, and he can feel _ everything. _

When he steps out of that god forsaken chamber, Dr. Erskine is on the ground. Red spills out from under him. Dr. Erskine is on the ground _ dead. _

Someone is running out the door. 

Jeremy follows, with newfound power. Every step is a bound and every bound is a leap. People are getting out of his way, _ people are noticing him. _

This guy has no chance. 

The guy swallows a cyanide pill when Jeremy has finally caught up. 

Even with this new body, that’s big and powerful and wouldn’t be crushed by a mild breeze, Jeremy is still losing. 

* * *

The first time Jeremy hops on stage, with the ridiculous costume that Michael would’ve made fun of him for, he’s terrified out of his mind. Little voices in his head are whispering, _ You’re too pathetic. They’ll see that you never deserved the serum. They’ll head home completely bored by your performance, and we will lose to the Nazis. You may have muscles, but you’re still little Jeremy Heere, the weakling who’ll lose the fight. _

The hundredth time Jeremy hops on stage, he’s a little more used to it. 

The hundredth time Jeremy hops on stage, the unexpected happens: he gets booed. 

“Sorry, Cap,” an officer tells him—using the name ironically, Jeremy knows, because Captain America is one of the stupidest names they could’ve chosen for him—after the failed performance. “They’re just down in the dumps ‘cause the 107th is still captured.”  
  
Jeremy’s breath hitches. “I’m sorry, what?”

“The 107th is still captured?” 

“Please tell me there’s a rescue team out there,” Jeremy says suddenly, almost pleading. What a silly sight it must seem, but Jeremy needs to know. 

The officer shakes his head slowly, as if he’s speaking to a toddler. “They’re captured by Hydra, Heere. They’re probably dead. We have more important things to focus on. This’ll be a morale blow, then they’ll get over it, _ that’s it. _” 

“You can’t—what about—” The officer gives Jeremy a look and he shuts up. 

He doesn’t realize until the officer is gone that his eyes are stinging with unshed tears. _ Stupid, _he thinks, brushing them away. 

Peggy Carter approaches him from behind, places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Your… friend,” she says knowingly. She knows far too much after late nights and loneliness, which resulted in Peggy and Jeremy getting to know each other a lot better. There are rumors of them being together, though Jeremy would never betray Michael like that, nor would Peggy with Angie. “He’s in the 107th, right?”

Jeremy nods numbly. “He could be _ dead_, Peg,” he says, his words sounding a little more breathy than he intended. He blows a curl out of his face.

“Then you go get him,” Peggy offers simply. 

He shakes his head. “I’m just a—a dancing monkey. I can’t actually do anything. I didn’t actually deck Hitler.”

“You could,” she says vaguely. “For Michael.”

Oh _ god, _Michael’s out there. Michael’s out there, captured, and Jeremy is dancing with pretty girls and not going to rescue him. What kind of friend is he?

“I’m going,” Jeremy decides. 

A small grin breaks out on Peggy’s face. “I knew you would.”

* * *

The Hydra prison _ reeks _ of malicious intent. People—_soldiers, _ Jeremy realizes—are huddled in little cells. They back up when he walks through. They’re _ afraid _ of him. _ Him_, Jeremy Heere, the weakest boy on the block.

It makes him feel powerful. 

(He shouldn’t feel powerful, not when these people have been trapped and he hasn’t, so he shakes the thought away. He tells them he’s here to get them out, and he gets them out. But he knows what his main goal is, and it’s not them. (Is that selfish? Jeremy is sure it must be.))

He finds Michael on one of the higher floors of the prison. He’s—he’s strapped to a fucking metal gurney, and if the way his eyes are scrunched closed is any indication, it’s not a jolly good time. His hair has grown out a little. It would be a good look on him if it weren’t such a dire situation. 

Jeremy wastes no time in tearing apart the straps. When he’s done, he nudges Michael. “You gotta get up,” he mutters. “_ C’mon_, Micah.”

Michael’s eyes flutter open and Jeremy breathes a sigh of relief. He lifts Michael up, helps him stand, and—

Lips are on his mouth. They’re dry and cracked and pretty crusty, but they’re also clinging to Jeremy like a lifeline, so he lets them stay. Michael chuckles bitterly and pulls away. “You’re not real,” he murmurs. 

Jeremy’s mouth twists unpleasantly. “Whaddya mean, I’m not real? Of course I’m real. Look at me, Micah.” He cups Michael’s face and stares into his eyes. God, being taller than Michael feels weird. 

Out of either exhaustion or acceptance, Michael melts into Jeremy’s arms. “I thought you were _ dead_,” Jeremy says quietly. 

Michael lets go and looks at him. _ Really _looks at him, with his eyes squinting. His lips purse. “I thought you were smaller.”

* * *

“Michael, just _ leave, _ without me! Get to safety!”

“No, _ not without you!_” 

* * *

Jeremy marches with his head held high, Michael at his side, and a large group of formerly imprisoned soldiers trailing behind him. 

Peggy Carter’s lips twitch upward.

Later that day, he demands to be let out on the field. _ I could do so much good, _he argues fiercely. 

He joins the 107th. 

* * *

Captain America quickly becomes a well-known and formidable figure in the army’s ranks. Though really, Jeremy reasons, he owes it all to the 107th—or, rather, the Howling Commandos. He trusts them enough to have his back, and he has theirs. It’s because of them that he isn’t some corpse left for dead and buried in the snow. 

One night, they choose to relax and have a drink. Uncoincidentally, it lines up with their brief visit to America. 

A couple girls giggle and walk up to Jeremy. They talk to him like they have honey spilling out of their lips. 

Michael shifts beside him. “You’re getting all the attention,” he jokes. “Is it something I did?”

Jeremy takes a sip from his mug of beer. He doesn’t know what he expected—he never had the chance to have alcohol before, so all he knows is from Michael getting absolutely wasted in the past. He feels a warmth flitting at his throat, but it goes away within the moment. 

“Maybe it’s my turn in the spotlight,” he shoots back. On a softer note, he says, “You’re my favorite person. You can be, like, Captain America’s sidekick or something.”  
  
“I am _ not _ a sidekick,” Michael asserts, placing a hand on his chest in mock offense. “If anything, _ you’re _the sidekick to the brilliant, brave, and ever-so-dashing Michael Mell.” 

Jeremy snorts. “As if.”

* * *

Michael falls. Michael falls down the chasm, and Jeremy returns with a heavy heart and a red, raw throat. He didn’t even remember screaming. 

* * *

“Turns out I can’t get drunk,” Jeremy says to Peggy as he hears her heels click-clack against the wood floor. “I tried, but I—I didn’t know what went wrong before. I never drank alcohol before the serum, did you know that? But now—” He gestures to the line of beer bottles he has stacked neatly on the countertop. 

“You loved him,” Peggy tells him softly. “It’s alright to grieve.”

“I don’t—I’m not—” Jeremy takes a breath and tries again. “I’m Captain America,” is what he ends up with, and it gets the point across, so he sticks with it. 

Peggy picks up an empty bottle and squints through the mouth of it. She puts it down and sighs. “No. You’re Jeremy Heere. Captain America’s not real, he’s a measure that no one can reach.” A barstool creaks as she sits on it. “You can be human, you know.”

Jeremy takes that as an invitation to drown out his sadness and anger and the rest of his unholy cocktail of emotions with alcohol. He reaches for a bottle.

“Michael Mell _ did not _die for you to waste your life away in this bar, however,” says Peggy sharply. She swats the bottle away. “And I mean it. Grieve him properly. It’s what he deserves.”

Peggy’s words are like a sharp kick to his chest. She’s right. She’s completely and utterly right. Michael doesn’t deserve to be grieved in an abandoned bar with beer being wasted, stuff that’s never gonna see the light of day. But Jeremy’s _ so fucking pathetic _that he can’t even grieve his best friend and… and love of his life right. 

Jeremy, looking at the dusty floor, asks, “Do they need me out there?”

Peggy snorts. “You’re the only enhanced human they’ve got. And you have a hundred percent rate of success. Of course they need you. But you don’t have to listen to them.”

“No, it—it’s okay,” he says, slipping off his barstool. “I have to get back out there. War doesn’t stop when—when I say it does.”

He just needs to bash his shield in someone’s face. He needs to be _ useful _for once. 

Peggy’s eyes burn a hole into his soul, but she doesn’t say anything. 

So Jeremy rejoins the fight.

* * *

A couple days later, after a very satisfying fight with the bastard who allowed and even advocated for Michael’s death, Jeremy crashes a plane into the ocean.

(Beforehand, he leaves his shield with Peggy. Spouts some bullshit about not needing the extra weight on his shoulder with the next-to-nothing time they had and runs. Judging by the way his radio crackles to life the moment he steps into the pilot’s seat, she has him figured out. She always does.)

He smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> this has been a project of labor and love for me for a while now, and I decided to post (with much editing) my barely finished first chapter in honor of BMC's closing! (sksksksk I'm still lowkey crying inside)
> 
> warning, I already have multiple chaptered fics I need to be working on, so this is going to get updated very, very sporadically. super sporadically. I warned you. mostly, I work on this when I'm on an MCU kick but I'm not in the mood to write MCU fic, which happens more often than you'd think post-Endgame
> 
> if you liked my work, please consider giving kudos and comments, and talking to me (re: motivating me to write) on my tumblr @crystalinastar !


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